


Last Days of the Justice League

by Romiress



Category: Batman (Comics), Flashpoint (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Bruce Wayne Is a Terrible Person, Canon Compliant, Gen, Malnutrition, Neglect, Paralysis, Post City of Bane, Very Negative Fic, With hints of positivity?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25081819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: When Barry hears that Batman's been keeping a secret prisoner in Arkham Asylum, he thinks he's being lied to.When he turns out to be the truth, it leads him down a path he never wanted to walk.---Intended to be, at least on the Bat side of things, 100% canon compliant. Ignores the events of Death of the Speed Force arc on Barry's side. Tom King's Batman is an awful person, and this could absolutely be viewed as a fix-it for the JL at large's response to him.
Relationships: Barry Allen & Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen & Clark Kent, Barry Allen & Justice League, Barry Allen & Thomas Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've mentioned some in the tags above, but this fic touches on a lot of dark content, all of which is either canon, or follows directly from canon. That includes intense physical neglect / malnutrition, abuse of authority, and discussion of (almost definitely canon) serious injury and disability.

The end of the Justice League doesn't come from Darkseid, or the Batman who Laughs, or any of the countless other beings that have made their lives hell.

In the end, the end of the Justice League comes from the mouth of Captain Cold.

"I've got some information you'd like to know," he says as Barry cuffs him. The fights over, Barry's won, and all that he has to do is drop Snart off with the police and he can call it a day.

He shouldn't listen, but he does, watching the way Snart's mouth quirks up. Snart knows he has Barry, and he's not wrong: Barry _is_ intrigued by what Snart could possibly have to offer up.

"You already know I'm not dirty," Barry points out. "Why even try?"

"It's not about being dirty or not. The police have informants, right? Same thing here. I've got information you want to know. You're in a position where you could just... let me go."

"I'm not going to let you go, Snart."

He _really_ doesn't know why Snart's even trying. There's no reason for it. Barry would _never_ let him go. Not unless the information was so valuable that...

Barry has to stop and think about it. What could be so valuable he'd let Snart go? If the information would save someone's life, he supposes that he _might._ He'd have to tell people, own up to it, but if it was going to save a life...

"What's the information?"

Snart tells him. He doesn't drag it out. He doesn't make Barry promise he'll let him go. He knows Barry's as good as his word: if the information's good enough, anyway.

"Batman's keeping a secret prisoner in Arkham. One that even you guys in the League don't know about."

Barry nearly laughs. The idea is downright nonsensical. Sure, Bruce is paranoid (who wouldn't be, in his situation), but a _secret prisoner?_

"You're going to need something a lot more believable if you want me to let you go," Barry says, unable to hold back a laugh.

The idea is ridiculous. There's only _one_ secret prisoner in play, and they're most definitely _not_ being held at Arkham. The Batman who Laughs is too dangerous for that.

But Snart's expression is stony: he's completely serious, and that makes Barry hesitate. Snart's a lot of things, but making something like this up doesn't seem like him.

Barry's heart skips a beat, and uncertainty sets in.

Maybe that's the plan. Maybe that's the whole reason Snart's even bringing it up. But the fact that he can't just dismiss it eats at him, and he leans in, eyes narrowing as he studies Snart.

"And what do you know about this secret prisoner?"

When Snart answers, Barry knows for sure that he isn't lying to him. It's all the tiny little micro expressions, and up close there's no doubt.

But that doesn't mean he's telling him the truth, either; it just means that Snart believes what he's saying.

"Like I said, they're a secret," Snart says dryly. He doesn't seem to mind how close Barry is to him, holding his ground effortlessly. "Batman supposedly brought him in after the whole city got taken over, but that was that. The guy's been there ever since. All the people over at Arkham know about him, because he's treated so weirdly."

The feeling of uncertainty only intensifies. As far as stories go, this one would be a terrible one to make up. It would be too easily disproven to hold up under scrutiny. If Snart was trying to string him along, it would be something about a _hidden_ prisoner, only the guy he's talking about doesn't sound hidden at all.

"Weirdly?"

Barry forces himself to step back, giving Snart his space. Unless he wants to drive himself crazy second guessing everything about the situation, he's going to need to take the man at his word.

"They keep him away from the rest of the prisoners, and he's always wearing a mask. Doesn't eat with the rest, so he stands out when they do see him."

It... it doesn't make sense. There's so many _questions,_ and yet it's obvious to Barry what the next step is.

He has to look into it.

"Let me be direct about this, _Snart._ If I find out you're lying—"

"Oh come _on,"_ Snart says with an exaggerated groan. "Don't give me the lecture, I know already. If you find out I'm lying, you'll hunt me down and toss me in prison, yada yada yada. Listen, Flash, as great as today was, no one got hurt, nothing got taken, and you have _way_ bigger things to worry about then my decision to case a joint. So why don't you run off, figure out what's going on, and leave me alone?"

Barry's gone before he can finish talking.

There are a lot of options he could consider. A lot of possible plans. But if what Snart said is true, if there really _is_ some secret prisoner being kept in secret within Arkham without the knowledge of the League...

Well, he can't keep going about his usual routine.

On his way to Gotham the options swirl in his head: that _the League_ knows, and just not him. That this is all some kind of trap.

He's sure there's a good reason for the situation, he just can't think of an explanation that would make sense.

Arkham is about as far from Barry's favorite place in the world as it's possible to be. Even with all the money Bruce has invested into it, the place is still out of date and absolutely miserable. It also somehow, despite all the lights they keep adding to it, somehow _gloomy,_ but the same can be said of most of Gotham and he's doing what he can not to think about it as he heads up to the front. In full costume, he's unmistakable as the Flash, and the plan comes together as smoothly as a plan can.

It's the quickest, easiest way to handle things.

He just has to play it perfectly.

The security behind the front desk gawks at him as he strolls in. He's been there before, but only ever with Bruce, and he doesn't recognize anyone behind the counter. He doesn't let that deter him though, casual as can be as he leans down.

"Hey, I'm here to pick up the inmate."

Inmate seems like a better term than _prisoner,_ even if that's what they are. There's no denying that Arkham is effectively used as an overflow prison: when it comes to the high security wing, the presence of a lot of those inside is highly debatable. Sure, Two-Face desperately needs help, but someone like Bane?

Very little separates him from the prisons at Blackgate, realistically speaking.

A heartbeat passes, the guards behind the front desk exchanging looks as the orderly in front looks up at him in confusion. It appears genuine, and Barry tries for a moment to convince himself that means Snart was lying.

"Which inmate would that be...?"

"The one that's being held on behalf of the League."

It's a calculated risk. If Bruce _were_ in fact hiding a secret prisoner in Arkham, Barry can't imagine that he'd do so under his own name. He'd do so as a representative of the League, an organization with _authority._

And Barry is a member of the same League. He should have access.

One of the guards steps forward, taking control of the conversation.

"If you'll come right this way, Flash..."

Barry's stomach sinks.

He's lead into a side room and passed on to someone else who deals with the high-threat wing. The man seems like he's seen a lot, with a deeply weary look that makes it clear to Barry he's unimpressed.

"I wasn't informed someone would be coming to pick them up—they haven't been prepped for any sort of transfer."

Barry tries to tell himself that there must be a good reason, but every new bit of information makes that harder to believe.

"I'm sure you can imagine how things get. This is a pretty last minute thing for us too, so sorry about the short notice. You shouldn't need to do anything special for transfer: I can handle him."

He flexes just to make a point, shooting the man a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Of course," the guard replies.

It shouldn't work, but it does, and he's lead without complaint into the facility. It's more high tech than he remembers, but he sees little of the main facility before they head into the core of Arkham, where the truly dangerous patients are supposed to be kept. Every cell is individual and locked down, specialized to the occupant inside.

And one of them is occupied by the man he's come to find.

It's the mask that does Barry in, the mask that cracks his exterior. It's a huge, bulky thing, completely hiding the prisoner's entire face. His eyes are barely visible, the mouth covered. It looks grotesque, like something out of a horror movie, and it perfectly encapsulates everything he's feared.

Bruce is hiding them.

Bruce has hid the prisoner away in the bowels of Arkham, unable to move. Unable to speak. The man's bound in a straight jacket, sitting down in a wheelchair. Completely immobile. Even without being able to see his mouth, Barry's sure the man is gagged, unable to speak.

The only consolation is that the guard (warden? some other kind of management?) is on the wrong side of him to see the look of horror and disgust that crosses Barry's face at lightning speed.

He wants to puke.

He didn't want to believe it when Snart told him, but now it's impossible to deny. Impossible to look away from the truth of it: the man in front of him, bound and gagged, unable to move. Barry can't even tell if the man has realized he's there: he's completely unresponsive, dead to the outside world.

He wants to ask questions—how are they feeding him?—but knows that anything he asks risks raising red flags. He doesn't even know who the man _is,_ but he knows he needs to get him out of Arkham before Bruce notices.

Maybe he already has, but Bruce is forced to operate at _human_ speed, and Barry has no such limitation.

"I'm supposed to notify Batman if anything happens with the patient," the guard says. There's a questioning note in their voice, desperately seeking an explanation that Barry is all too happy to provide.

"Oh, you can call him if you want," Barry says casually, even if that's the absolute _last_ thing he wants. "I'll probably beat you to notifying him, though. I'll be heading to him with the patient."

They probably won't call. They don't _say_ they won't, but why would they? They have no reason to believe that Bruce hid this from the rest of the League. As far as they know, the whole thing is above board. They get to work, opening the cell door, which only makes Barry feel that much worse: they aren't afraid of the patient.

To them, the patient is harmless. They'd never open any of the other cell doors—not Hush, not Two-Face, and certainly not Calendar Man—but they open the cell in front of him up without a care in the world.

They go right ahead and wheel the patient forward, still bound and gagged. The prisoner is broad, but up close Barry can tell they're smaller than he actually thought. Their hair's gone grey, making him think they might be older, and that's when it hits him.

But the idea of it is too outlandish, and he pushes it away. He shouldn't speculate as to who it is. He shouldn't guess. Guessing is almost _always_ bad.

But instincts are hard to ignore.

"I'll carry him," Barry says. "I doubt a chair's going to hold up to my speed."

Something about what he says is a mistake, because the guard squints at him, suddenly hesitant.

"He needs the chair," the guard points out, and Barry is thankful for his speed, because thinking at superspeed makes it that much easier to adapt.

"We have one at headquarters, already ready," he says. "I can drop him in it when I get there."

He _needs the chair?_

The questions keep coming, and the level of alarm Barry feels keeps growing. It's all he can do to bend down, scooping the man into his arms and lifting him from the chair, still bound and immobile.

He's even lighter then Barry thought. He is, without a doubt, seriously underweight, and the ease with which Barry can lift his bulk is alarming.

Bile rises in Barry's throat, and he has to force it down. He has to hold it together until he's out. It can't be long, but it still feels like a lifetime.

Every step towards the exit he feels convinced that any moment, Bruce is going to burst from the shadows. Every doorway they pass through, he waits for the sound of an alarm going off.

They take him to the transfer bay, even if there's no truck waiting for them. It's more private, which Barry is thankful for, but he doesn't bother with goodbyes. He can't keep up the facade any longer, so all he manages is a quick, polite nod, and then he's gone, vanishing from Arkham in a blur, the prisoner in his arms.

He isn't ready.


	2. Chapter 2

The man in his arm seems to weigh almost nothing, and that fact weighs on Barry as he flees from Arkham. There's no doubt in his mind that Bruce will know soon if he doesn't know already, so he picks a nearly random location to stop at. It's a small park in the suburbs of Gotham, empty right then, and he makes use of a bench, setting the prisoner down.

He tells himself, over and over again, that he has no idea who it is. They could be _anyone:_ the issue isn't who it is, the issue is that they're there at all. Maybe there's a reason. Maybe seeing the man's face causes people to die or something.

But the more he thinks, the more he knows that it's pure denial.

The fact is that Bruce wouldn't put just anyone in that situation. There's something _more_ to it, and the more he thinks about it the more he tries desperately _not_ to think about it. It's going to lead down a dark path. It's going to lead him to a conclusion he doesn't want to reach.

Because the obvious, inevitable answer is that Bruce put the man in Arkham—fully intending for him to vanish among the other patients—to hide him. To keep him from the world. The man's clearly no physical threat at all, which means the problem is what he could _say._

The problem is what he knows.

That's the answer Barry comes to, the one he can't deny: the prisoner is there because he knows Bruce's identity. Because he can somehow link Bruce Wayne and Batman. It's the secret Bruce keeps most carefully, and the one reason Barry can imagine why he wouldn't tell the League.

He takes the mask off and things get so much worse.

Thomas Wayne sits before him, completely unresponsive. His cheeks are sunken, his eyes glassy. He's clearly lost a great deal of weight in the months (almost a _year_ ) since Barry saw him.

The fact that it's Thomas answers all of Barry's questions. Thomas's very presence puts Bruce's identity at risk. If he was still Batman—a safe enough assumption—then he could ruin everything.

But Barry can't wrap his head around the rest. Why isn't Thomas at the manor? Why is Bruce hiding him away in _Arkham,_ of all places?

It takes Barry only a second to decide that it doesn't matter. No matter what Thomas did—no matter _what_ the reason that Bruce turned against Thomas—it doesn't warrant what's happened to him. It doesn't warrant being slammed in solitary confinement for the rest of his life, alone and forgotten. It doesn't warrant whatever happened to leave him in a wheelchair, completely dissociated from reality.

"Thomas," the word's hardly more than a whisper, and Barry takes pains to speak up when he speaks again. "Doctor Wayne?"

Nothing. No response at all. For all he knows, Thomas is brain dead, not just dissociating.

The short list of places he can go for help is a very, _very_ short one. He has to assume that Bruce knows he's taken Thomas. He has to assume Bruce is going to want to take him back. He can't go back home, or to any of his usual allies in Central City.

So he needs to go to a place that Bruce _won't_ immediately check, that has the facilities to assess Thomas's condition, and there's only one real option.

He scoops Thomas up and then heads to the Bermuda Triangle.

It's there that he finds the Fortress of Solitude, a grand and imposing structure. He stops at the entrance only long enough for the automatic systems to scan him and allow him entrance before zipping father inside.

He's greeted by one of the fortresses androids, which floats out to greet him amidst the grand crystalline halls. It observes Barry and his passenger silently for a moment, and then poses the obvious question.

"Greetings, Flash. Should I notify Superman of your presence?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't. I'll need a bit of time to settle in before I talk to him."

It's a risk. He has no idea if the AI is going to accept his explanation. For all he knows, Clark has _already_ been informed. The systems loyalty must be to him, but Barry hopes that there's enough room for nuance.

"I assume this matter is important?"

"Yes," Barry says quickly, allowing himself to talk a bit faster than usual since the system can handle it. "The man I have with me is injured and needs medical attention, and once that's settled I... well, I'll probably talk to the whole Justice League."

He doesn't want to go through them one by one. He needs to deal with it all at once, getting ahead of whatever story Bruce might come up with.

"If you'll come this way, I will ensure they are given appropriate attention."

The fortress's medical facilities are state of the art, and Thomas offers no response or recognition as Barry works with the machines to remove him from his bindings. Barry can't read the units of measure the system is pulling up, but it's obvious enough that Thomas is in a sorry state.

"He is malnourished," the system informs him after a few minutes. "He has received sub-standard food and medical care for quite some time and is as a result underweight."

"How was he fed?"

Barry's afraid of the answer he's about to get.

"Via feeding tube. His spine is also fractured in several places and has healed poorly."

Barry wants to throw up.

"Is he... paralyzed?"

"At a human level of recovery, yes. With the assistance of Kryptonian technology, he may recover in time, but human biology is not something we fully understand at this juncture."

Staring down at the still body in front of him, Barry can see it. Without even trying, he knows what's coming. He knows what it means. Bruce has gone too far, and _he's_ going to have to take him to task, and that's going to ruin everything.

Maybe it should be ruined.

Maybe, if this is what it leads to, it was all a mistake.

"Is he... aware?"

"That is unclear."

Barry hopes he is. He hopes that Thomas is just _hiding._

"Doctor Wayne? I'm not sure if you can hear me right now, but I'm going to... I'll sort this out. I'm going to get you some answers, and maybe some justice."

Maybe.

But that's all he can promise.

He leaves Thomas i the care of the robots that run the Fortress of Solitude, relatively confident that they won't tell Clark before he can.

He puts out an urgent request for a meeting to the League and heads to the hall of justice. He tries not to show how upset he is, but he's sure it's obvious anyway. Everything is happening too _fast,_ even for him, and he has to keep up the pace. He can no longer count on his ability to predict what Bruce might do.

Which means he has to treat Bruce as an enemy. He has to assume that all of Bruce's masterful tactical planning is going to be directed right at him.

Diana meets him on the way down to the meeting room. Anyone who _can_ get there in person will be, but it's a fine balance on waiting or not.

"At least you're alright," she calls to him as they head to the elevator, meeting just in front of it as they step inside. "Your message sounded urgent, but you were light on details."

"Who's in the area?" Barry asks, ignoring her unasked question.

"Bruce, you, John... Clark hasn't called in, but he should be here. Arthur's occupied in Atlantis. He'll attend remotely unless it's absolutely necessary he be here in person."

Barry's jaw is set, his lips nothing more than a tight line. That's all the founders accounted for. 

"Remote is fine."

If it's all at once, there will be less time for Bruce to play offense. There's a decent chance he's already trying to swing at least one of them (probably Clark, if Barry had to guess), but Barry knows there's no backing down.

"Barry—"

"How long till everyone's here?"

It must be something in the way he looks. Diana stares at him, distressed, and then reaches out, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Barry, I don't know what happened. But I'm sure we can figure this out."

He waits until the doors open in front of them before he answers.

"I don't think they can."


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce is already there, and the sight of him turns Barry's stomach. He doesn't understand how he can just _stand there_ after what he's done. He doesn't understand how he can chat with John like everything is normal. Like the world as Barry knows it hasn't started to fray around the edges.

Everything hasn't started to fall apart just yet, but Barry knows it will soon.

"Sorry I'm late!" Clark calls, arriving only a moment after Barry and Diana do. Diana's already having Arthur brought online, which means almost everyone is there.

"Victor?" He asks, and a hologram flickers to life at the confrence room table in response.

"Here, but remotely. I'm juggling multiple things at once. Arthur should be online in a—"

Arthur's image flickers into place right on queue.

"Should we expand this?" Diana asks, looking to Barry. "Is this a core meeting, or do we need to bring the reserve in?"

It's hard—impossible, really—to figure out if Bruce knows. There's functionally no difference between him knowing and pretending not to and him not knowing at all, so Barry doesn't bother guessing.

"Core only," Barry says. The newer members (and those who've stepped back from their work with the League) don't need to see what's going to happen.

A part of him wonders if that choice—the choice to keep it private—is as much about protecting himself as protecting Bruce. He's dedicated so much time and energy to the League, and if he can save it, he wants to.

Everyone hasn't even finished sitting down when Barry speaks. He's still standing, his hands resting on the back of his chair. He doesn't _want_ to sit, not at the same table as Bruce, and he can't even make himself look at the man, even if he should.

"Earlier today I caught one of my rogues. Before I could turn them over to the police, he told me that he had information he'd share in exchange for looking the other way."

It sounds so _corrupt_ when he says it. Like he's taken a bribe.

But knowing what he does now, he can't make himself regret it for a moment, even if half the people at the table look alarmed by the admission.

"He pointed me to a patient being held in Arkham. A patient with no official records, being held on behalf of the Justice League."

Everyone looks to Bruce.

Barry doubts that most of them are thinking of the reality of things just yet. They're simply looking to him because Gotham is _his_ territory, and he should be the one the most in the know. The truth hasn't settled in, and Barry isn't sure it's ever going to. They've fought at Bruce's side for so long. They've learned to accept him despite his issues.

But what he's done to Thomas is a step too far.

"On _my_ authority," Bruce corrects. "I wasn't aware it was expected that I inform the League every time I turn someone over to Arkham." His tone is flat, and no doubt has the affect he desires: everyone turns back to Barry, looking for an explanation.

Barry's spent every minute since Snart opened his stupid mouth feeling little more than horror and shock, but at last he feels another emotion: anger. He's _angry_ that Bruce is playing these games. That he's playing stupid, acting like he doesn't know what the issue is. It's a waste of Barry's time, and he digs his fingers into the chair, leaning forward slightly.

"Don't waste our time," he snaps. Apparently him being angry is rare enough that most of the others look genuinely shocked. He hopes that counts for something. He hopes it's enough. "You incarcerated Thomas Wayne in Arkham using _our_ authority, knowing that if you told them not to ask questions about his identity, they'd do so. You locked him up and threw away the key without any sort of psyche eval, trial, or anything."

 _"Thomas Wayne?"_ Cyborg blurts, glancing between them frantically. "Isn't he dead?"

Bruce's eyes narrow.

"As he's from an alternate reality, I can hardly provide documentation that doesn't exist."

"Hold on," Clark interrupts. He seems almost panicked, and Barry wonders if he's seeing what's coming the same way Barry is. "Thomas Wayne? The one Barry and you encountered when you touched the button?"

"From the alternate timeline? Shouldn't he _not exist?"_ Arthur adds.

"I wouldn't know, because I can't ask him." Barry's fury is only growing. Every word Bruce says trying to act like what he did _wasn't_ monstrous only makes it worse. "He's non-responsive and effectively catatonic. He's severely malnourished, and at some point his spine was snapped."

Clark looks horrified. He's far from the only one.

"If Arkham's care is inadequate, that's something we can look into," Bruce says simply. "The fact that he was attacked while incarcerated—"

"Stop!" Diana yells, slamming her hands onto the desk. "What is even going on here? You two are having an argument we aren't even a part of."

"Bruce knew he couldn't put Thomas through the legal system without outing his identity," Barry snaps. "So he had him incarcerated wearing a full-face mask, trapped twenty-four hours in a wheelchair and a straight jacket. No one knows who he is, no one talks to him, and he's kept completely isolated from the other prisoners."

Bruce's expression darkens.

"You have no idea what he did while Bane was in control of the city."

"No I _fucking don't!"_ Barry can't stop himself from yelling, but no one stops him. "I have no goddamn idea what he did because _you didn't tell us!_ You left us completely in the dark, and then you personally sentenced him to _solitary confinement_ for the rest of his life!"

"You know exactly why he's there," Bruce says. "He can't be allowed free. It would put the identity of every vigilante in Gotham at risk. He knows all of our identities, and he knows yours too."

"And yet you didn't tell us. The League is supposed to be about accountability, Bruce. We're supposed to keep each other in check. We aren't supposed to be acting like judge, jury, and executioner!"

"He killed Alfred!"

The room is dead silent.

Barry knew, of course, that Alfred had died. He'd assumed, apparently incorrectly, that Bane had done it.

Apparently he wasn't the only one.

"I thought Bane..." Victor's voice seems shaken, and it's clear to Barry that none of them were fully aware of what happened in Gotham while under Bane's thumb. Bruce had never wanted to talk, even when they'd offered, and now Barry wonders why.

Knowing what Bruce has done, he can't help but suspect there's a reason for that.

"Bane did it, but it was Thomas who helped him. Thomas threw his hand in with Bane and helped arrange the whole thing."

"That doesn't matter."

Barry won't let Bruce avoid that. He won't let Bruce turn the focus onto what Thomas did, because it truly doesn't matter.

"It matters to me." Bruce's voice is steel.

"It _doesn't matter,"_ Barry repeats. "The condition he in was horrible. No one's checking in on him. You hid him from us—"

"He's a criminal."

"It doesn't matter, Bruce!" He's yelling now, the anger boiling over. "If you locked the Joker up in a gag and a straight jacket and let someone paralyze them for life I'd be horrified, and that's the _Joker!_ Literally _nothing_ he's done is half as devastating as the things the Joker has done, and yet the Joker gets a normal cell and your father is left to rot!"

He doesn't understand it. He doesn't _understand_ how Bruce can do that to someone. To _anyone,_ least of all Thomas Wayne.

"He's not my father." Bruce's voice is dangerously deep. "Alfred was my father, and he killed him."

"This is revenge."

Barry sees it now.

He _understands_ what it is: revenge. Bruce is angry Thomas was involved in Alfred's death, and now he's lashing out. He can't understand why Bruce is so focused on Thomas over Bane, but it doesn't matter.

"You're doing this out of _revenge,"_ Barry repeats. "Don't try and call this justice."

"Barry," Clark interrupts, and Barry has to stop himself from snapping at him. He can't push people away. He should be looking for allies where he can get them. "I'm sure there's a good reason for this."

Barry doesn't agree. He doesn't think there's anything Bruce could possibly say that would make it okay. There's no possible explanation that would justify what's happened to Thomas, not to _anyone._ Not when there are so many other options. Thomas could have been turned over to the League and handled that way, for one, and a part of Barry wonders if the reason that Bruce didn't is specifically because of _him._

Because he knew Barry would want to visit Thomas.

"It was important he not be allowed to expose anyone," Bruce says. "Gotham wasn't aware of all the things he was doing, and if they knew he was incarcerated the odds were high that someone would make the wrong choice."

"You were afraid they were going to pick Thomas over you."

Barry doesn't even realize he's said it until the room goes dead silent. You could hear a pin drop right then, and everyone—including Barry himself—are apparently awed he'd say it to Bruce's face.

"That was too far, man," Victor says quietly.

"I know this is... what Bruce did was wrong." Clark's words give Barry hope, but they're quickly dashed. "But in light of everything that's happened... he just lost Alfred, the man who raised him. His city was taken over by a madman. I think—"

The anger boils over.

"We're here to _save people._ That's why the Justice League was founded. That's why we're all supposed to be here. We're not feudal lords divvying up land to rule. We don't get absolute final say just because something happens in our home town. Bruce lost someone close to him, which is devastating, but you know what? So did a lot of us. The entire hero _community_ lost something in what happened at Sanctuary, and yet all of us managed to keep doing what we're doing without locking someone up and throwing away the key. We all managed to handle our rogues the way we're _supposed_ to."

"You started this entire inquisition by admitting you let a criminal go," Bruce counters, and the anger—already boiling over—comes to a tipping point.

"This _inquisition?_ You aren't on trial, Bruce! You'd never get to a trial because no matter what you do, someone _always_ cuts you some slack! Most of the time that's _all_ of us. We glossed over when you revealed you'd took it upon yourself to create countermeasures to stop all of us and let those fall into the wrong hands. We looked the other way when you _paralyzed_ Knyazev. We— I honestly can't even begin to list all the things you've done wrong, and that's just the things we _know_ about!"

"Khadym," Diana says quietly. "We appointed a guard to keep people out of Khadym, to keep the peace. We gave him our authority, and you took a woman accused of mass-murder and marched through anyway."

"And Santa Prisca," Barry points out, eager to keep the momentum going. "And more."

"I think we can all agree that Bruce screwed up here," Victor says. Bruce's silence is getting to Barry, but he tries to ignore it. "What matters is what we do about it. Bruce is right that there are significant concerns about Thomas's existence potentially compromising both his identity and those who work with him. He'll need to be held in a secure facility here—"

Barry's ears are ringing. Everyone is nodding along, talking about what they can do about Thomas. About how to incarcerate him. About how to _handle_ him.

He doesn't snap. Instead, he shatters, all the little pieces crumbling to dust.

"I'm done."

Clark turns to him, alarmed. Diana doesn't notice right away, but John does, looking absolutely baffled.

Barry says it again, louder, and all other conversation stops at the table as they turn to look at him.

He regrets not having a badge to pull off and slam on the table. Instead, he retrieves his ID from inside the hidden pocket on his suit and drops it on the table. His _League_ ID, the thing that he's literally never used, but it's the principle of the thing. It's the _idea_ of it.

"If this is what the Justice League is, then I'm done. I can make enough messes on my own without having all of you to enable me."

Maybe they say something, but Barry doesn't hear it. The moment he finishes speaking, he's gone, zipping through the back of the base on his way out.

He isn't going back.


	4. Chapter 4

It's not even a question where they'll look for him: Central City, his home territory. The place he lives. The place he loves.

So he doesn't go home.

He runs to the Fortress of Solitude where he left Thomas, counting on the fact that Clark will be too busy to stop by right away. He doesn't really have a long term plans; he didn't plan to quit. He's in deeply uncharted territory, and the more he thinks about it, the more antsy he gets.

He needs to talk to Iris. He needs to talk to _Wallace,_ the person in the world most likely to end up facing consequences for what Barry just did.

He supposes it's a small consolation that Wally won't. He's already too far gone for that: Barry couldn't do anything to help him anyway.

"Welcome back, Flash," one of the robots greets as he arrives.

"How's the patient?"

"He showed positive signs of awareness while you were gone, but there is nothing else to report."

That's more than Barry had hoped for, so he zips straight to what he's come to think of as the hospital wing, stopping at Thomas's bedside.

Thomas is still in the bed as he approaches, his glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling. He doesn't move at all until Barry sits down beside him, his hands gathered in his lap.

"Dr. Wayne?"

No response.

"Thomas?"

That gets one, however small it is. The tiniest flutter of his eyelashes. The tiniest _acknowledgement_ that he can hear Barry.

"I know you're probably really tired right now, but I wanted to make sure you know that you're safe. I'm not going to hand you over. I'm not going to... to let them put you under his control again, alright?"

He doesn't know how aware Thomas is, but he makes a point of not saying _Bruce._ He doesn't know everything that happened between them, but there's no way it's any good. If he were in Thomas's shoes, he'd never want to so much as have Bruce mentioned about him again, and until Thomas can say otherwise, Barry wants to stick to that.

Barry hesitates for a moment and then reaches out, taking Thomas's hand in his own and giving it a small squeeze. He's hoping the pressure will bring him back to himself, but it doesn't: there's another flutter of his eyelashes, but nothing more.

"I need to get a few things in order." Calling Iris and Wallace, for one. "I'll be back soon." He's going to need to figure out how to address it with Clark, because he _is_ in what amounts to Clark's secret base. He can't stay there forever—he has a job at home to get to, and...

There's just so many details that thinking about them is exhausting. He's having a hard time thinking about it, and an even harder time trying to guess what everyone else is going to do. Would they risk his secret identity by contacting him at work? Would they go to Iris?

He's so distracted he nearly runs face-first into Clark standing right outside the door. Barry jerks back instinctively, but when Clark makes no move he forces himself to take a deep breath.

Clark isn't here to fight, and the look on his face makes that clear. He looks upset, devastated even, and Barry feels a pang of regret.

Maybe he shouldn't have run out so quickly.

Neither of them speaks until the door behind Barry closes, and when they do, their voices are quiet. Barry doesn't want to disturb Thomas with any arguing, and apparently Clark doesn't either.

"The system told you I was here."

"No." Clark's correction is gentle, even wary. "I hoped you were here, because if you were that would mean you hadn't completely given up on me."

 _Ow._ Barry _feels_ that one, and it absolutely shows on his face.

"Can we talk?" Even there, having made absolutely clear that Clark was worried about the worst case scenario—that Barry was going to vanish and never even speak to him again—Clark is being overly cautious.

"Yeah. I assume you know a good place for it?"

He's not going to turn Clark down. Clark's been his ally—his _friend_ —for a very long time, and at the very least Barry owes him that much. A conversation, just the two of them, even if the situation is a terrible one.

The room Clark leads him to must be his private quarters: there's no other term Barry can think of that fits it. It reminds him of a living room, with plenty of places to sit, and while none of the seating _looks_ comfortable, when he sinks down he realizes that the whole thing is made out of some kind of Kryptonian version of memory-foam. The entire couch is _beyond_ comfortable, and Barry lets himself sink back into it, basking in it for just a few moments before forcing himself to focus on what matters.

"System?" Clark says, beating him to it. "Could you please notify me if there's any chance in Mr. Wayne's condition?"

"Of course, Kal-El," the system replies automatically. There's no obvious robots in the room, but that doesn't mean much of anything. The entire building seems to run on the same AI, and Barry knows better then to expect them to be _completely_ alone.

With everything set in place, Clark looks at Barry. Barry looks back. He doesn't have any idea where to start, and he's pretty sure Clark doesn't either. There's almost a full minute of awkward silence where no one really knows what to do before Barry makes himself speak.

"...I shouldn't have left like that. I didn't give any of you time to speak. I was just... very frustrated." And angry, both at Bruce _and_ the others.

"You were right to be so," Clark says, and the fact that he's willing to admit it gives Barry hope that the conversation won't be a waste. "We... none of us handled it very well. It was easy to focus on what could be done about Thomas, and..."

There's another long moment of hesitation.

"You were right that we gave Bruce too much slack. That we looked the other way because he's our friend. It was just automatic not to think about it."

"What happened after I left?" Barry can't make himself _not_ ask. He hasn't even been gone that long, but surely there must have been some kind of a reaction.

"Everyone was going to come find you. Diana... Diana stayed behind to stop Bruce from going out as well."

"Hold on." Barry can hardly believe what he's hearing. _"Bruce_ was going to come find me?"

"He was worried about you. He said you weren't yourself. He had all these theories right away; that you were being manipulated, that—"

Barry makes a choked, angry sound. It's an ugly, terrible sound, and he hates himself for making it because it's almost, _almost_ a laugh.

"I'm not being controlled. No one's manipulating me, Clark."

"I know that now. I... It's hard to think about Bruce in those terms. To think that he's done these awful, horrible things. I think you undersold Thomas's condition. From what the system told me..." Clark hesitates, the pain on his face evident. "He's been seriously neglected."

"I want to know what happened to his back. Bruce wasn't clear, but he implied it happened after the fact. Someone shattered his spine."

"Bane," Clark says. "Bruce mentioned it. Bane found him while he was imprisoned and broke his back. He said that was why Thomas was... _locked down._ For his own protection."

"Please, _please_ tell me you don't believe that," Barry says. He hopes not. It sounds like complete bullshit, and he doesn't want to believe anyone was taken in by such an obvious lie.

"I think Bruce believes it," Clark says. "But... I can't believe that was what was best for him. I think you're right when you said that Bruce was doing things at least partially out of revenge. The way he acted about Thomas is..."

Clark stares at nothing for a moment, and then shakes his head, either unable to find the words or unable to say them.

Barry can imagine, though: _chilling_ is the word that comes to mind. For someone who shaped his entire life around the death of his parents, the way Bruce is acting towards Thomas is jarring.

"I wanted to ask you to come back," Clark says. "No one knows but the people who were in the room. You were upset—"

"I think we're past that, Clark."

It feels right when he says it, and Barry knows it's the right choice.

"Whether I come back to the League or not won't change things. The fact that this happened—that it went so far without any of us stopping it—means something's fundamentally wrong with the League."

"That doesn't mean it's beyond saving." The League has been Clark's life's work in many ways, and it's clear to Barry how painful the idea of losing it is to him.

"Some things are too badly broken to be fixed," Barry says. To him, it's the truth: The League is over. There's no fixing what's left, and attempting to do so is a fool's errand.

"I can't convince you to come back, can I?"

Barry offers him only a shake of the head in response. He's not going back, and Clark sinks back into his own seat in response, letting out a little huff of air.

"I've got a lot to think about. I think... I think we all do. About what's to be done, and what can be done. But Barry... have you thought about what you're going to do with— with Mr. Wayne?"

"Doctor," Barry corrects. "I haven't had time. I didn't know how... how severe his condition was. And I..."

He trails off, unsure of what to say. The simple truth is that he has no idea what he can do next. His options are few and far between. His work schedule simply isn't going to accommodate full time care of another human being. He's going to have to find some kind of caretaker that he can trust—

"Fortress, please demote all Justice League members to guest status," Clark says without any sort of preamble. There's a _bing_ that's obviously confirmation, and then he keeps going. "Move the hospital wing to secure clearance, and then boost Barry Allen to the highest possible clearance?"

Another bing. Barry feels like his mind if molasses.

"What?"

"That will limit where anyone else goes to make sure none of them run across Thomas. It'll also give you full access to the Fortresses facilities, if you need to use it for anything."

Barry almost says _what?_ again but manages to catch himself. He should be able to figure it out: he should be able to put it together. It just feels so _jarring_ in light of everything that's happened.

He wasn't expecting this kind of support.

"The Fortress's AI can see to his medical needs while he recovers. At a minimum, he's going to need time to put on weight and build up muscle mass again. I'll see what can be done about his spine, but I can't make any promises, even with Kryptonian technology."

"Clark—"

Clark holds up a hand, and Barry goes silent.

"You did the right thing, Barry. You... you saw someone doing something terrible and you spoke up, even though that person was your friend. Even though doing so was a risk. You made the right choice."

Barry doesn't doubt that. He knows it's the right choice for _him,_ but he can't be certain if it's the right choice for everyone else. He has no idea how things are going to play out, no idea what it's going to mean in the long run.

"You're welcome to stay here if you want, and for Thomas to make use of the medical facilities. Assuming you didn't have something else in mind," Clark adds quickly, as if he genuinely thinks Barry might have something in mind.

"I didn't have any plans," Barry admits. "I don't really have the... the _facilities_ to properly care for him. Not if I want to..."

Barry trails off. He doesn't want to say _keep him safe from Bruce,_ but it's what he's thinking. Clark obviously isn't cutting ties the way Barry is, and while he feels less than charitable about Bruce in general, he's not going to actively try and sabotage the relationship Clark has with him.

"Well, the Fortress is free for your use. I'll make sure no one else comes around without giving you a lot of heads up, and the system will... well, will keep him safe."

There's an awkward pause, and then Barry glances towards the door.

"I should go check on him," he says quickly. "And then probably go back home. I need to... well, do a lot of things. Talk to Iris, for one."

"Of course. If you need anything..."

Clark's already done enough. Barry gives him a quick nod and then excuses himself, zipping through the Fortress on his way back to the hospital wing.

Thomas is still lying there, unmoving. The system has no updates for him, and even though Barry spends a little while there, there's no response from Thomas.

He wonders if there ever _is_ going to be a response, and tells himself not to dwell on it.


	5. Chapter 5

There's never a point where Barry walks in and finds that Thomas is back to his old self. There's no magical moment where Thomas's improvement suddenly lurches forward the way he hopes.

Everything that does happen does so at a snail's pace.

It's a week before Thomas acknowledges his presence at all, his eyes slowly drifting around the room as he takes it in, and another before he speaks. When he does, it's a single raspy word, a request for water, and then nothing else for days after. Thomas's state is extreme, so he does what he can not to be impatient, even if he's hard.

For all Barry's worries, Bruce doesn't come after him. He's not sure if it's because Bruce never planned to (the cat is, after all, _firmly_ out of the bag), or because Clark and the others are stopping him from doing anything.

Really, his life continues more or less normally. He goes to work. He goes out as the flash. The only real change is that he spends his downtime at the Fortress of Solitude, checking on Thomas for changes. He sees a lot of Clark, but mostly it's just him and Thomas as he talks about his day. Thomas doesn't respond (most of the time he doesn't even seem aware that Barry's there), but at least lets Barry think he's helping.

The world at large doesn't notice Barry's absence right away. It isn't uncommon for League members to be occupied, and with no active crisis, the fact that he's never running around with them doesn't register. It's not until more than a month after he first found Thomas that it comes up, and even then it only comes up in a grander context: the League announces to the public that Batman is leaving the team and everything goes to hell.

Suddenly his presence is _very_ noticed. The news pours over clips of every League response in the past month for signs of him. People start asking him if he's still with the League, even, and when he starts saying _no comment_ that becomes news in itself.

Even so, he doesn't get it nearly as much attention as those in Gotham. Bruce is hard to contact at the best of times, but his children are less so, and there's video after video of people asking various Gotham vigilantes about Batman. Most simply don't answer, but a few respond less favorably, only drawing even _more_ attention.

Barry just wants people to stop asking.

For a while after, Barry feels like that'll be the worst of it. A lot of heroes have stopped actively working with Bruce, although a few still do. He's been shut out of the League, and while Barry wishes there was more to be done, he's realistic: Bruce was never going to go to jail for it or anything like that.

And then the Justice League splits in two.

It happens almost without Barry noticing. He's at work, sipping coffee when someone walks in, casually chatting about the news. He nearly loses his favorite mug, risking a lightning-fast catch to avoid it shattering when he drops it in surprise, and only after it's safely on the counter does he slide over to hear the gossip.

No one's sure _why_ (Barry has a lot of guesses), but it's very suddenly public knowledge that there's been a schism in the League. Heroes are choosing sides, and the two groups are already bickering over who gets to be the _real_ Justice League: the one who gets to keep the headquarters and all the ties they've built up.

It's a mess, and Barry's happy to be well away from it.

For the most part, those around Barry support him despite what's going on. Iris is nothing if not understanding, and the younger heroes around him don't mind that they're no longer connected to the Justice League. When Hal stops by, he does so with the news that _all_ of the Lanterns have withdrawn from _both_ Leagues in an attempt to stem any possible infighting.

"No picking sides," Hal admits. "Probably for the best, even though it sort of feels like we're cheating things. Feels like we... should have picked a side."

"There's no sides in this," Barry says, leaning back in his seat. "The only thing that really matters is if we're doing the right thing."

Hal laughs, which isn't a _great_ response, but what he says next feels like a kick to the gut.

"There's always sides. It'd be nice if we could just say this is a _right and wrong_ kind of thing, but we can't. There's nuance to it: who gets the final say? Who has authority here? How far is too far? I've seen a lot of that dealing with the Guardians, a lot of questions about right and wrong. Most of the time you just know, but how do you justify that?"

It's complicated, and he really wishes it wasn't.

More than a month after Barry first finds Thomas, a Bat comes to talk. It isn't one of the ones he expects (Bruce, or maybe Damian), but instead Kate Kane, the Batwoman herself. She's waiting in the entrance—what Barry thinks of as the _waiting room,_ considering no one aside from himself and Clark can pass it unescorted—and while she's wearing her suit, the cowls been pulled back to show her face.

He doesn't really know her all that well, but her presence there _means_ something, and Barry can't quite figure out what.

"Kate."

"Barry."

She offers a hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Barry takes it, giving it a shake.

"I assume you're here to talk about things."

"About my uncle, yes."

She gets straight to the point. Barry wants to say he's happy about that, but really he's just nervous. The situation as it stands can't be sustained forever, and the last thing he wants to do is topple it.

"I'm not sure what you know about the situation," Barry says, realizing a moment too late that her presence there means she no doubt has realized where Thomas is being hidden away, "but we can talk. There's a little living area not far from here."

He walks her there, reminding himself every step of the way that he's authorized to lock down the whole Fortress if needed. Taking her inside isn't a risk—they're far from the hospital wing where Thomas is still recovering, and he's worrying for nothing.

"I was hoping to speak to him," Kate says once they've settled in. Barry regrets coming in his street clothes: he should have taken the time to put his costume on, if only to put them on the same level.

"He's not in the condition to speak to anyone, you or otherwise. His state is... not good, overall."

"I was told he was paralyzed."

Despite delivering what should be a devastating line, Kate's deadly cool. He can't tell if she's in control or genuinely doesn't feel bad for him, but he hopes it's the former.

"Partially paralyzed. With Kryptonian technology, a repair might be possible. He'll never run, but he might limp with aid."

She takes the information in almost without content, staring up at him as she processes what she just heard. She offers a nod after a moment, and Barry takes a deep breath.

"I'm not here on Bruce's behalf," Kate says. "I don't know what you think you know about my relationship with him, but... I want the truth. I've heard Bruce's side of things, but I want to make up my own mind."

"I wasn't turning you down because I thought you were here for Bruce," Barry corrects. "I meant what I said. He isn't in any condition to speak to anyone. He needs time to recover, and he can't do that if he's being interrogated."

Barry isn't sure Thomas is ever going to be up for it. They've talked only very generally, and never about what happened in Gotham. Part of it is Barry avoiding it to avoid distressing Thomas, but Thomas hasn't volunteered anything either. Barry's been trying so hard to be careful, because Thomas has been through more than enough already.

"Eventually, someone's going to come ask. Someone will want him to answer for the things that Bruce has said he's done."

"I can't tell if you have too much faith in things or if I have too little." The words feel like ash on Barry's tongue: he always prided himself on his idealism, but now he can't reconcile it with everything that's happened. "Bruce won't allow it to ever go to trial. He'll do everything he can to make sure that doesn't happen. The moment Thomas is investigated, it would out him as Batman—there'd be no way for him to explain it that would come across as even _slightly_ plausible. The only person who could ever bring Thomas to _justice_ is Bruce himself, and we've seen where that leads."

It leads to a man being confined in almost unspeakable conditions until his mind nearly snaps from neglect.

"I'm still hoping for a chance to speak to him at some point."

"When he's well enough, I'll ask. But I can't make any promises about when that will be, or if it'll even happen. All I can say is that I'll give him the option, but I'm not going to force him to talk."

Barry knows how much Thomas has been through, because he stood beside him for much of it. He stood side by side with Thomas as they worked to fix the _world,_ even if it meant wiping away everything Thomas knew.

He wanted a better world, even if it didn't include him, and no matter what he's done since, Barry can't think of him as a criminal.

When Kate leaves the fortress, it's on good terms. She seems to understand Barry's reasoning, and doesn't try and push him for more. Really, he feels bad: there's nothing he can do for her, no answer he can give.

Four months after Barry fishes Thomas out of Arkham, one of the two Justice League's implodes. Barry never hears the why of it—he's largely isolated himself from the community, and what he does hear is obviously biased. For a little while, it looks like things are going to return to _normal,_ if such a thing is possible, except it doesn't. Less than two weeks after the first one goes, the second starts to go as well, There are several high profile departures, most notably Clark, and while Barry gives him space about it, he _does_ want to know what's going on.

"I think it was time to put an end to it," Clark says late that evening. "It felt like... like it was going for the sake of going, not because it was doing any good. Like we were keeping it around because for a lot of us, the Justice League felt like our life's work. Jefferson gave us a speech about the fact that our _life's work_ should be helping people, not building up the League, before he left, and it... lingered. Struck home, I guess you could say."

"So you left."

"So I left," Clark admits.

Barry sees a lot of Clark after that. Without the League headquarters to fall back to, the Fortress of Solitude becomes his primary base of operations again. Even though the League no longer exists in any real form, everyone continues to work in their own way. Clark still patrols Metropolis, he simply does so with a great deal less backup, and when he gets word one morning that aliens have been spotted in Metropolis, he calls Barry in and begs him to help evacuate.

Barry doesn't really even need to be asked. Central City is his home, and where he does most of his work, but that doesn't mean he's going to let Metropolis burn. It makes the news that they're working together, and in the following weeks there's more of that in general: Arthur showing up to help when someone blows up a factory on the coast of Star City. Diana tag teaming with Zatanna against a magical opponent.

It starts something.

Thomas improves, bit by bit. He sits up and talks, although the wariness doesn't leave. He eats whole foods, and even, on occasion, makes requests. Barry tries to make a habit of eating with him at least once a day, and sometimes Clark does too. Sometimes it's the three of them eating whatever take-out someone's brought, and sometimes Clark has the system make food for them, which is always an adventure in itself.

Barry's life changes. The routine he had established has given way to something else, and in time he blends the old and the new. He brings Iris to meet Clark and Thomas more formally, and finds himself pleased when Thomas seems to like her. He invites Wallace along, giving him a tour of the place and introducing him to Thomas as well. Hal even makes an appearance one time, although Thomas doesn't get along _nearly_ as well with him for reasons Barry can't quite work out.

Thomas takes his first shaking steps the same day that Central City reaches out to the Flash formally: they want to work something out.

Barry can't deny them a chance, so he sits down with them anyway. The terms are fair enough: they're hoping for a way to contact him and precious little else. He's been working in the city for years, and in the mayor's words there's hardly a person in the city whose life he hasn't improved.

Barry thinks he's exaggerating, but the deal extends to those who work with him as well: it makes it easier for them to get help if they need it, easier to _officially_ tell firefighters a building is about to go, or to tell EMTs what happened in a situation.

It's like having the key to the city, being Central Cities _official_ superhero. The bigger news to most people is that he wasn't already: there's a museum about him, after all, and Central City has never been anything but supportive.

But making it official _does_ change things, just not for him. Metropolis reaches out to Clark in the same way, and others follow. Some are more strict about it. Some refuse to even consider the idea. It becomes a strange patchwork quilt of acceptance and denial. A few threaten to arrest any hero who shows up in their city, while others accept an open door policy, taking any official hero from any other city who shows up to help.

Gotham refuses any sort of official recognition, but that doesn't stop Bruce from doing the same thing he's always done.

For the most part, though, Barry knows it doesn't really matter. If someone's in danger in Newbold, Wisconsin, Barry isn't going to stop to check their stance on supers in city limits before he goes to help them.

It does, however, hold them a bit more accountable. A lot of cities want the secret identities for new heroes before they go to work, and two years after the Justice League collapses, that new hero ends up arrested. He gets off—less because he's innocent and more because the jury isn't willing to arrest someone who _has_ helped so much—but it sets a precedent. It changes things in a way that can't be changed back.

Eventually, he moves. He gets a house in Central City with room to grow and moves Thomas into the in-law suite, rather than leaving him at the Fortress forever. He still struggles with walking, and doesn't talk as much as he should, but his improvement is obvious.

Barry never does ask him if he wants to talk to Kate Kane. The damage runs too deep, the trauma left untouched. The months Thomas was kept locked away are something he never wants to address, and Barry doesn't force him, focusing instead on helping Thomas establish himself in the present.

Bruce never comes looking either. Thomas's presence is simply an unspoken and accepted part of life for Barry.

Things have changed, and Barry things they're for the better.


End file.
